


Christmas Wishes

by catratbatsnake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:03:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8983384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catratbatsnake/pseuds/catratbatsnake
Summary: I wrote this for @postmodernmaglor as their secret santa gift for the Drarry Squad exchange, Christmas 2016. To be honest, this has given me tremendous fic anxiety and there are probably typos, but I can't bear to read through for them (feel free to point them out). Big thank you to @drarryexchange over on tumblr for organising this bit of festive fun and for making me write this - it's been good for me to have a deadline to work to!





	

George’s Christmas party was in full swing. Every available surface was bedecked in sparkly purple and gold decorations, and fairy lights made from little joined-up ‘W’s zigzagged across the ceiling in all directions, projecting glitter patterns and ‘W’s onto the walls, and occasionally spotlighting random guests at awkward moments. Robotic mistletoe clambered all over the trestle tables and swung from the lights, sometimes landing on the heads of unsuspecting guests in its enthusiasm, all the while blaring “we wish you a merry KISSmas, now get out of your gear”. The layer of glitter on everything was so thick it seemed to have become part of the air. Harry understood why George and Ron might feel the need to go all out for Wheezes’ first corporate party, but he couldn't help finding it all a bit much. 

The suggestion to host a party and sell tickets had been Ginny’s, and it had been a roaring success on all fronts. Adults were keen to be able to socialise in a slightly less formal situation than any of the Ministry events ever were without having to host anything themselves. It had been Molly who suggested a childrens’ play area, filled with fun but (moderately) safe Wheezes and squashy purple sleeping bags, so that parents could enjoy a festive night out. A very young punk band bedecked in glowing Wheezes santa hats kept the dance floor set up in a large, charmed marquee in the middle of Diagon Alley alive, while there was space to talk or be entertained by myriad Weasley products on the ground floor of the shop. Hermione had told Harry that the event alone had made Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes over ten thousand Galleons, and the resulting press and product showcasing could only help. And, most importantly, all of the planning had given George, Ron, and the other Weasleys something positive to focus on at a time of year that they all found difficult - a time that is meant to be all about family. 

Harry appreciated what a marvellous thing the whole event was. Truly, he did. He’d even been given a free ticket - and one for a +1, that he hadn’t used - as the venture capitalist of Wheezes. He thought that the whole thing was a fantastic idea. The only glitch was that he’d rather be almost anywhere else. Harry leant against a pillar in the “outside” space George had created next to the dance floor marquee, and immediately regretted it as the stone turned to a snowdrift and he fell sideways. Cursing, he stood up and made his way over to one of the trestle tables. He needed a drink. 

“What’s your poison, Harry?” Seamus Finnigan asked, clinking his pint glass against Harry’s swirly tumbler.

“Err,” Harry began, realising he didn't know. He eyed the fizzing silver liquid wearily, too tired and fed up to care. It tasted a bit like oranges and not at all like the ale he’d been sticking to all evening. “Citrine Starlight” he decided, “One of Hermione’s new ones.”.

Thankfully, Seamus didn't seem to notice the made up name. “You know, of all our year, I’d never have pegged Hermione Granger as the one to end up running a successful side business in cocktail recipes”. 

Harry chuckled along with his old schoolfriend. “You know, me neither. I guess it’s a reminder to us all that there really is nothing she can’t do.” He couldn’t help but feel a burst of pride for his oldest friend and her myriad achievements. 

Everything felt strangely calm when Harry awoke in his and Ron’s room at the Burrow on Christmas morning. Leaving his still-snoring best friend to rest - he wasn't sure exactly what time Ron had returned from Diagon, but it hadn’t been before three a.m - he headed downstairs. A cup of tea seemed like an awfully good idea. He popped his head around the door to the living room on his way past. A mountain of brightly wrapped presents of all shapes and sizes were stacked under the tree, which appeared to be leaning against at least half of them. Harry was amused to note that a pair of unwrapped shoes appeared to be balanced on top of the lawnmower he’d wrapped for Mr Weasley. He carried on into the kitchen. 

“Did you have an enjoyable evening, Ron?” Percy asked smugly, reaching for the toast. Ron appeared to be finding life a little difficult this morning; George had put him in charge of keeping the refreshments topped up and it seemed he’d felt the need to taste test most of the things he’d put out.

“George, did we bring any of that, er, special pepper-up that was in the party favours?” Ron croaked, sipping gingerly at his apple juice. His pain was met with laughs from around the table. 

At his best friend’s expression of pained dismay, Harry took pity. “On the floor by my bed” he whispered, adding bacon to his pancake. Mrs Weasley had been unexpectedly delighted to have Harry help her cook everyone Christmas day breakfast, so they’d ended up with twice as many breakfast items as usual. Not that anyone was complaining. 

Only when the Christmas dinner had been eaten, the leftovers put under stasis charms and all the dishes done did Mrs Weasley declare it time for present opening. Harry couldn't help but be somewhat excited - he supposed that he’d missed out on the full-blown amazement that came with the magic of Christmas as a little kid, so he was just experiencing it late. Although, if her were totally honest with himself, Harry still found magic exciting in a way that children brought up on it probably never would. 

Two hours later, however, and Harry was ready to fall asleep. It felt as though he’d spent the whole day eating, and sitting in front of the fire as everyone opened their presents was surprisingly soporific. He was still experiencing the same calm as he’d awoken with, but his brain was too tired and happy to do anything but enjoy it. 

“OOooh, thank you so much, Harry!” He opened one eye to see Mr Weasley pulling the large, shiny green parcel he’d wrapped the night before out from under the tree. The shoes that were on top of it seemed to be causing some resistance. Hang on - shoes?

Nobody else seemed to have noticed the issue. “It’s not going to cause… issues, is it, Harry?” Mrs Weasley asked nervously, obviously thinking of her husband’s habit for creating slightly illegal inventions out of muggle artefacts. Harry shook his head with a smile, but kept one eye on the shoes.

“Aha!” Mr Weasley cried with delight, tugging the package free and ripping the paper. “Oh, look, dear, we can charm it to mow the grass for us! Maybe arm it with a little de-gnomer, maybe you could give us a hand with that, Georgie-“

But Harry wasn’t focused on Mr and Mrs Weasley’s reaction to the lawnmower. The shoes he’d spotted earlier were attached to feet. And legs clad in skinny jeans in a shade of blue that was almost grey. Which were topped with a belt, a shiny green shirt tucked into them - 

“Where the heck am I?” the voice was tired and confused, but undoubtedly that of one Draco Malfoy. He uncurled his well-dressed body, batting away the branches of the Christmas tree and wincing as pine needles fell into his face. 

“Er” several voices said in unison. The looks of mixed horror and befuddlement on the faces of Malfoy and all of the Weasleys were amusingly similar, Harry thought. 

As Malfoy scrambled out from amongst the few remaining presents, Harry spotted something sparkling on the back of his soft-looking green shirt. “Wait, Malfoy, I think you’ve got a label”. Malfoy paused, long pale fingers scrabbling on his back. In a sudden rush of recklessness, Harry plucked it from his back and handed it to him. The card was a disturbingly familiar shade of purple.

“Harry Potter - May your festive season be merry and satisfying” Malfoy read out, his eyebrows rising with every syllable. He thrust the card at George. “Look familiar to you, Weasel?”

“Err,” George had the good grace to look sheepish. “What did the both of you drink last night?”

Green eyes met grey for an instant, before darting away. “Were you even at the Wheezes-” Harry began, as Draco started “Pansy might have made cocktails with stuff from your party-”

George cocked an eyebrow at his sales manager. “Think we might need clearer signage on that Deepest Desire Draught, Ronniekins”.

“Yeah”, Ron mumbled, a slightly glazed expression on his face. “Although that was just meant to be a spike in the lemonade. Maybe I overdid it when running the refill.”

“Yeah, although that doesn’t explain why it was quite so effective, there was no way it should have been able to transport a human - it should just conjure a nicely wrapped dildo or whatever under the drinker’s christmas tree. Maybe - ”

“Hang on a second” Harry frowned. Malfoy’s delicate features also bore an expression of sharp concentration, he noticed. “What potion did you say the lemonade was spiked with, exactly?”

“Would anyone like to help me prepare a spot of afternoon tea?” Molly interrupted loudly. “Ginny, Percy, perhaps you would. And Bill, darling, I’m sure your father could use a hand checking over his new morn.. morn.. present.” Harry flashed her a look of gratitude as she successfully emptied the living room of all but George, Ron, Malfoy and himself. 

“Malfoy, do you have any idea what was in the cocktail you drank?” George asked. Ordinarily, Harry would have been impressed by how level he kept his tone, but in that moment he was too busy observing the other’s face without his trademark sneer. Maybe he really had changed since Hogwarts - Harry hadn’t really seen him since the trials over a year ago. 

“I’m not entirely sure, ” he sounded hesitant, “but it was silver and sparkly and tasted of citrus. She definitely put ice in it, and gin, and, knowing Pansy, probably raspberries.”

“I drank something silver and citrusy at your party too!” Suddenly Harry wanted to showcase the things he and Malfoy had in common. “I think I thought it was one of Hermione’s recipes, but they both sound the same.”

The expression on Ron’s face was definitely concern, now. “Yup, that sounds like the WWW patented Draught of Desire” George announced, slipping into the tone of voice he usually reserved for sales pitches. “Wake up the next morning to be presented with your heart’s deepest want - we mixed a special festive version for our party that would cause extra presents to appear under people’s christmas trees - hitting stores 13th February for a limited time only. Not for sale to or use by those under the age of seventeen.”

Harry stared at George. “So you mean..?”

“Shut your mouth or you’ll catch a fly, Potter.” Malfoy looked almost as shocked as Harry felt, yet had somehow managed to retain his trademark snark. Some things never change, Harry thought. 

Just then, Hermione popped her head around the door. “Where did you come from?” Ron asked, befuddled. 

“Your mother invited me to call in for tea, so that I could spend christmas lunch with my parents and still spend time with my wizarding family” she explained. “I’m sure you were there when she made the suggestion. Harry, perhaps you’d like to take Draco on a short walk, show him how lovely the moors are with the frost on them.”

Harry nodded dumbly. Draco. He’d never really thought of Malfoy by his first name before, but it seemed to suit him. Fitted with those high, arching cheekbones and that pale hair with just the hint of a wave to it. Shaking himself, he turned to the wizard still sat by the Weasleys’ christmas tree. “Care for - I mean, would you like to, er, walk with me, Malfoy?”

When he nodded his acquiescence and stood up, Harry had to forcibly remind himself not to offer his arm. They stumbled out of The Burrow’s front door, one after the other. Standing in the crisp winter air, Harry realised too late that he’d neglected to fetch coats for either of them. Before he could turn back to rectify this, however, he felt a gentle warming charm brush over him, creating the feeling of a fur-lined cloak. He turned his face to offer a smile of gratitude, and met a nervous yet hopeful smile in return. 

 

They strolled in silence to the top of the nearest hill, frost crunching underfoot despite it being afternoon. The quiet might have been awkward, but it wasn’t; it seemed as though there were nothing that need be said. Both seemed to come naturally to pause when they reached the peak, looking around at the view as a distraction from interacting with each other. 

It was Malfoy who spoke first. “So,” he began, blinking away the frost that had settled on his pale eyelashes. “You heard what Weasley said about the drinks-” 

Harry spun around suddenly, cutting him off. He took a step forward, leaning close to face the fractionally taller wizard. “I did.”

Through his eyelashes, he could see Draco’s eyes, silver as the frost and open as the moor. See how nervous he was. Harry kissed him. 

How they came to be in the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was a bit of a mystery to Harry. Normally, he’d have to have told Draco the address, and even then only Harry could apparate into the house, but apparently when a very powerful wizard wants something, he goes for it. Not that Harry stopped to worry about this. He had bigger things to think about.

Draco forced his thigh between Harry’s, biting his bottom lip at the same time. Harry groaned into Draco’s mouth, too focused on pleasure to be embarrassed. He slid a hand down the smooth silk covering Draco’s stomach before slipping it underneath and tracing his finger around each of the vertebrae in the other boy’s lower back. Draco shuddered, and Harry whined in response. 

At some stage they fell to the floor, shirtless. Draco let go of Harry’s mouth to bite instead at his collarbone, leaving red toothmarks. Harry pushed back against the rhythmic rutting of Draco atop him, not knowing or caring how much sound they made together. Draco slid his tongue across the nodules of bone that sat either side of Harry’s sternum, and then moved abruptly to perform the same action on each dark, erect nipple in turn. Harry scrabbled desperately to unbutton his own jeans, staying in time with their twin thrusts as he wriggled out of them. The denim across Draco’s crotch was stretched so tight that the button was a struggle to undo. Impulsively, Harry gave the straining cock a squeeze with his right hand as he slid the zip apart with his left; the cry that left Draco when he did caused his own cock to jump almost painfully. 

They moved against one another and together, now, chest to chest, foreskin against foreskin, mouths locked once more in a heated clash of teeth and tongue. Every part of Harry felt as though it were on fire, his heart thudding in time with the one in the ribcage above it. They were building constantly in intensity and pace, racing towards a crescendo that felt inevitable and impossible all at once.

And then suddenly Draco was spilling hot across Harry’s chest, and Harry was coming, coming, everywhere all at once. He was pretty sure that there was some on his face, but he neither knew nor cared whose. At that moment, Harry couldn't care at all about anything that wasn't the body that still lay atop his. 

Laughing nervously, Draco rolled onto the floor, wincing as his back made contact with the cool tiles. He pulled his wand from his jeans pocket and flicked it lazily, cleaning them both. They turned their backs to one another to dress, both too awkward to look the other in the face. 

After what seemed like an eternity that Harry couldn't bear and couldn't end all at once, they turned to each other once more. He laid across the bones of Draco’s porcelain wrist. Green eyes met grey. “Would - would you like to go for Boxing Day dinner? I can probably get us a reservation, or just cook for you here.” he offered softly.

“I’d love to, Harry,” Draco’s smile was small but genuine. “But what the hell is a day for boxing?


End file.
